totally okay |lrh|

0.5

Indies POV,,

I wear my new band tee out of the store.

"Now this," I say, pulling at the hem of the shirt as Luke and I walk out of Double-Take, "is way more my style than that awful sequined thing was."

Luke laughs loudly. "I still think it's brilliant that we're dressed exactly the same."

"Yeah, it's pretty great," I say, grinning. I take the car keys out of the pocket of my shorts and hit the button to unlock the doors.

Luke reaches out and takes the car keys from me.

"Let me drive this time," he says.

"What? No way, this is my car," I say. I try to take the keys back, but he holds his arm up, and since I'm so short, I can't reach.

"You don't trust me not to wreck your truck?" Luke asks, smirking.

"You're from Australia."

"What does that have to do with my driving ability?"

"You drive on the wrong side of the road there," I say. I jump for the keys, but Luke raises his arm even higher and miss his hand my several inches.

"So you think I can't drive an American car? Indie, I'm offended."

I jump again. "That's not what I said."

He grins and starts walking to the truck, still holding the keys.

"I'm driving," he says.

"Luke, give me the keys!" I say, but he only laughs and slides into the front seat of the truck.

Luke rolls down the passenger seat window, grinning at me. "You gonna get in the car or what?"

I put my hands on my hips and raise my eyebrows. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." He pats the faded, worn-out leather on the passenger seat. "C'mon, Indie, get in the car."

I stare critically at him for a minute, on the verge of telling him that there's no way on earth I'm letting him drive my truck, but then I meet his blue eyes and all my skepticism simply melts away, though I try to cling to it. Darn it. Why does he have to be so cute?

"If you wreck my truck, you're buying me a new one," I say as I pull the car door open and slide into the passenger seat.

Luke laughs. "I'm not going to wreck your truck," he says as he puts the keys in the ignition. The truck roars to life and He pulls away from the curb, merging smoothly with the oncoming traffic.

"Where are you driving us, anyway?" I ask.

"Er, I dunno. I just wanted to drive."

I raise my eyebrows again. "Really?"

"Yeah." A red light flashes and Luke brings the car to a halt. He glances at me. "Where should we go?"

"Um—" I'm very aware of the red light I can see in my peripheral vision, silently pressuring me to say something before it turns green again.

"I'm starving," I say, saying the first thing that pops into my head. "Can we get something to eat?"

"You read my mind," Luke says just as the light turns green.

Twenty minutes later, after a very indecisive conversation about what we want to eat, several illegal U-turns, and an almost-collision with a Prius who tried to steal the parking spot we clearly got to first, Luke and I find ourselves sitting at a white-tableclothed table in a quaint Italian restaurant that's only a few blocks away from my ballet studio, but that I've never seen in my life. It's small and cramped, but clearly popular. We took the last empty table in the place, and almost immediately after we sat down, at least five couples walked into the restaurant. Our table is in the corner, wedged between the front window and the door to the kitchen; the door hits the back of my chair every time a waiter walks out carrying a tray of food.